Dirt

Surprises

Ebony-Ivory Special (boy=black) ToC

Prologue

April 12, 1864

And now his life as a free person would never happen. He would die first. The totally frightened and despairing boy had finally given up his feeble efforts to find his way out of what he had resigned himself as being his grave. The lack of liquid had reduced him to barely being able to craw about on the floor of what should have been the attic of his master's house where his room and meager possessions lay.

Two days ago he had run up to his room and had sat atop his cot which was placed alongside the broad expanse of the chimney which extended through the space next to his cot and provided good warmth on the cold winter nights. His master was having important company and he was to serve the meal and he had gone to put on his good shirt and his precious callimanco breeches worn only on very special occasions. He was quite proud of the his efforts to please his master. And he had been quite careful to follow his master's directions in how to serve especially when company was to be impressed. It always put his master in a good mood, especially when he brought out the good Wharton's Whiskey. It was also one of his chores he always enjoyed especially since Miss Betty, the old niggra cook, would sneak him some of the meat scraps right off the returned serving vessels. He and the cook were all the slaves left since his mother's death from the wasting disease three years before and his older brother, Demouy, had fled north the previous summer. His master was actually not bad to work for, and coupled with his slight frame and fear of the unknown, he had declined to flee with his brother when he had been asked to accompany him and two other slaves from the old Tanner farm across the river.

Two days ago he had hurriedly washed his face and hands in the chipped washbowl, taken off his old linen breeches and suddenly found himself sort of falling into a bright blue hole which had suddenly appeared in the attic floor where his bed should have been. When his sudden fright had not stopped his heart, the crack of his head on some projecting metal fold – which also should not have been there – did knock him to the floor right next to the stone chimney. When he awoke from a momentary blackout, he found himself enclosed inside a small absolutely lightless space no more than three feet long [90 cm] and two feet [60 cm] wide. As he felt his way around he could definitely make out the stones of the old chimney but was totally frightened when he seemed enclosed by brickwork on three other sides. More than a day later his bloody fingers attested to his futile attempts to break free from his strange and thoroughly horrific imprisonment.

Now he just lay there silently weeping knowing that death was not far away. He despaired as he realized that he would now never know freedom, nor would he ever know his 14th birthday. He made some feeble attempt to pray to the white man's God but his lack of any real faith limited any real hope of deliverance. He had difficulty believing in a God who said that it was right for him to be forever a slave, forever to obey his earthly master with deep respect and fear. Although he was quite familiar with the fear part.

Just when he was about to doze off into what could possibly become his final slumber, he suddenly heard a strange muted thumping on the other side of the strange brickwork – the brickwork which should never have been there to begin with. He tried to shout but his throat was too raw and dry to make any worthwhile sound. He then started banging again with the half brick which he had pounded the wall with fruitless effort almost the entire first day after he had discovered the object in the corner where the end of his cot should have been. At near the very end of his strength he gave a final three raps and dropped to his knees with a near silent scream and in despair as his finger was caught with the last blow between wall and brick. As he lay crying and hopeless, he was startled to hear a definite three answering dull thunks from the exact opposite side of the wall. Hope flared and with a renewal of energy he again pounded three times. He then started attacking the wall with abandon as another grouping of three muted thuds greeted his euphoric ears.

"Please massa, please gets me outta here!" He yelled – or more accurately croaked – as loud as his parched throat would allow as suddenly a small chink of blessed light appeared before his tearing eyes.

Chapter 1
A Blast from the Past

September 2, 2009

Ben VonBona bought old dying businesses and revitalized them. Whatever the reason for how successful he was, however, was not especially relevant. Just be certain that Ben succeeded where others had not, more because of his tireless attention to detail and knowing everything there was to know about the businesses he acquired and then reorganized, or changed the focus of, or even made its own workers part owners to encourage greater industry and dedication. And now at the age of 37, Ben was just about ready to finally fulfill a lifetime dream, and become an author. Or at least give it his best effort. In addition to his MBA, Ben had also acquired a masters in History with emphasis on the American Expansion, and now he was about to embark on writing all those historical novels which had been percolating about in his head since college. Hell, what was the point in becoming wealthy if not to enjoy that wealth? Sure he had gone out of his way to make sure all those employees of all those businesses which he had acquired also participated in his own successes. He was in fact quite familiar to slender income when growing up, if not poverty, and he fully believed that no person actually had absolute title to their own wealth. He had not acquired his wealth in a vacuum – there were a lot of very hard working employees who had been a part of his far flung business empire. But he now had good managers in place, and was going to indulge himself for a change. His mother's death the year before had convinced him that there had to be more in life than just getting rich. And now he also had no more reason to hide who he was – a gay man in a fortunately more accepting society than when he was growing up. Of course western Texas wasn't exactly a bastion of liberalism. But he no longer had to worry about 'hurting' his mother; she would have never been able to 'understand' having been raised in a severely irrational Fundamentalist tradition. He was an only child of a woman who was 40 years old before she had conceived her first and only child. His father abandoned them both seven years later and his mother had affixed all her emotional hopes and dreams on her one boy's shoulders. And now that that 'pressure' had finally been lifted, Ben felt truly free for the first time in his life.

Ben VonBona had finally read the very last paper that his company's lawyer had thrust out at him.

"This is the last one Ben, after you sign it, you will officially no longer be my boss and I will be able to say 'fuck you' without fear of recrimination."

Ben laughed as he handed the document back. "Amelia, it's not lady like to use such language, and besides, I fired you yesterday for criticizing my choice for the new General Manager and CEO of VonBona Enterprises."

"Well the new manager hired me back. I threatened to cut him off if he didn't." Now it was Amelia's turn to laugh. And over Ben's shoulder she heard the voice of that same manager who had just entered the corner office on the 14th floor of the VonBona Building.

"Hey girl, I would have just done what all general managers do, sleep with their secretaries."

Amelia was hardly a 'girl' but the word by this time was a private endearment between them. The new head of VonBona Enterprises was in fact Amelia's husband, Garret Banks, Ben's life long friend, and one of only a hand full of people who knew that their now former boss would himself never have been tempted to stare with lust at his secretary's décolletage.

Ben intervened before a verbal melee could ensue. "Garret, glad you popped in. Just wanted to go over some final notes. And better not annoy Amelia, she might just start flirting with her new (male) paralegal."

Two other people were called into the office and final arrangements were eventually hashed out.

Ben stood, stretched his six foot [1.80 m] frame, ruing his recent lack of workouts as he looked down at his slightly expanded middle, and promised himself to correct that situation now that he would have the time. And more importantly, the renewed will power.

Ben addressed all those in whose his business empire was now turned overt to. "Now people I expect you to curb Garret's inclination to overextend the company." He smiled knowing that Garret was actually the more fiscally conservative of the bunch. He was also happy to note that that a black man had earned the necessary respect of his other managers and executives.

Garret replied: "Well Ben, when next quarter's figures show a twenty percent profit margin, the board will finally know that I should have been running the show all along."

After a small going 'away' party – Ben only had vague ideas yet as to exactly his next move – Ben made plans to buy a modest sized motor home and 'see' the country, paying special attention to those places which flared his historical interest. That next morning Ben was finally about to start his 'new' life, but his normally secure and controlled world was soon to be invaded by serendipity. But to him all he would see was an uncontrollable circumstance. Twenty minutes later he was confronted with the knowledge that he had had a Great Aunt Chelsie, and that his immediate plans would have to be put on hold for at least until he could clear up a few additional personal matters. He had shown up at his lawyer's office – his personal lawyer, not Amelia or any of the team he had used for his business concerns – to arrange his personal affairs. And now he had just discovered that some crazy long lost relative he had never heard of had not only heft him her estate but he was now the executor. And it was his own lawyer whom he had thought would be in for a few uncomfortable shocks.

The only reason the 67 year old Beauregard Luttens III was still his personal lawyer was more from inertia and by default than anything else. The old bigoted anti-everything typical south Texas 'good old boy' had been his mother's lawyer for years, ever since he had made his mother wealthy enough to actually need a lawyer. Ben remembered when he was still working on his second million and had met his mother at the turn of the century appointed office – and that was the 20th century not the 21st – of a friend of a friend. It was of course his mother's choice of attorneys and even if Ben despised the guy's bigotry he was at least honest and even competent.

Just that morning Ben had chuckled as he imagined what his requests were going to do the guy's indigestion. It was almost worth having to talk with the SOB after all. But he had been so busy tying up all loose ends of his far flung empire since his mother's death that he had not before now paid much attention to his own personal financial matters. He was greeted by the usual false bonhomie and interminable questions about his personal life as if the old goat actually cared. The usual questions about his still being one of Texas' most eligible bachelor was again sidestepped. Finally they got down to business.

"Well Beau, as you can see from the portfolios, aside from company properties, I have a personal wealth of about twenty-seven million in diversified holdings and need to make new arrangements in case I die or become incapable of handling my own affairs."

The lawyer gave the 'boy' his I don't care how damn rich you are smile and replied: "So as I understand it you mean to make a new codicil to your will. Well son, no problem at all. As you know your good mother, may she rest in peace, had been your main beneficiary until her death and then it reverted to various charities. So what can I do for you right now?"

"As you know I have recently disengaged from day to day operations of my business concerns so certain things have changed. First of all there are about a dozen people who have been with me from near the start who I now want to designate as heirs."

Good old Beau was visibly annoyed when he realized that every single one of my associates but two had been a member of some kind of minority, including three second generation Mexican Americans. I had recruited some of the better graduates at a time when not being a white male in Texas was still a serious handicap. But the actual indigestion occurred when I gave him the list of several organizations who would get the other half of my estate if I should die.

"What the heck is this? Human Rights Campaign, Marriage Equality USA, National Lesbian and Gay… You can't be serious boy!" He never finished reading the full list. It would seem the word gay had almost gagged him.

Beau's look was almost worth coming here. "What's the matter Beau? Everyone of these are very worthy organizations working for the defense of our civil rights."

"And just who the fuck does 'our' mean?"

Wow that was possibly the first time the old man had ever used that word in a conversation with a client.

"I'm gay Beau. That's what 'our' means. Of course if you object to handling our family affairs any more, I'm sure…"

I was not allowed to finish. Beauregard Luttens the third touched a button on an old fashioned intercom and announced to his sexagenarian secretary that I was leaving. Forthwith! Well, the trip wasn't wasted. I collected all necessary files from his law clerk who seemed most concerned not to even touch me or look directly at me, and I soon arranged for a different lawyer to conduct my personal affairs. I didn't even have to leave the building. I found the offices of the Honorable Xavier Templer (retired) and Ms. Julie Templer who was quite eager for new business. I already had arranged for an appointment because I was quite certain of the outcome with good old Beau.

I had also left his office with a registered letter from another lawyer in Roanoke, VA. It read in part:

"Therefore, in a good faith attempt to find all beneficiaries, I would bid you to direct this missive to any blood relatives of the late Mrs. Mildred VonBona, and present to this person the enclosed information."

I was the only know blood relative eventually discovered so by default I also became executor. So, with my plans temporarily in abeyance I soon found myself on a flight to St. Louis and then a rented car to the small town of Spanish Lake, Missouri. I was trying to figure out just who this mysterious relative had been who had left me her entire estate which included an antebellum relic of a Victorian farmhouse, three almost totally disintegrated outbuildings, and barely five acres of its original land. Three stops later, including one with a lawyer even more priggish than Beau, and I was surprised to find myself being personally directed by a new paralegal of said priggish attorney. The surprise was that he was both very friendly and very black.

I suppose that some of my questions and remarks were not exactly subtle so that about two miles [3 km] out of town the guy laughed and explained an unanswered question.

"Mr. Collins might not appear like it on the surface, but my boss is actually a good guy in his own way. He put me through school and then hired me because I happen to be the result of one of his indiscretions even if he would never introduce me at any of his social events as his son."

"You mean …"

"Yes. And I give the guy credit. When he discovered I actually existed he never backed away from what he considered his obligations. I even like my biological father."

Well I guess you can never know. I was wondering what Mrs. Collins thought about her husband's 'indiscretion.' Soon we drove into a very overrun property of a very run down clapboard house surrounded by a wrap around porch typical of the houses from its era. After being given a cursory exploration of the surprisingly tidy and furnished interior, I was left on my own wondering what I would actually do with the house and adjoining property. After opening several windows to help combat the musty smell from a home unlived in for more than a month, I conducted myself through the house again from basement to attic. I kept being amazed at the degree of upkeep the house had seen even if everything were from an era of at least two generations ago. I took a quick tour of the house from first to second floor then attic. The stair to the attic had emerged in the very center of a substantial space which fronted a wall to wall brickwork probably installed at a much later date to accommodate the ducting and flues from a more modern heating system. I almost decided not to explore the dusty and dank room after getting a view of the extreme clutter of old furniture, a myriad mix of trunks and assorted boxes, and the general clutter of four or five generations of discarded bric-a-brac. I was surprised, however, to see that instead of surrounding a new chimney, the brickwork had been extended to the far wall effectively separating the two ends of the attic. I spied a door, tripped over a large wooden crate which I sent crashing onto its side, but finally reached it to push it open on its squeaky hinges. I was surprised to see that the other half of the space had been totally renovated into a modern apartment. Well modern in respect to the age of the original house. The waning light of early evening through a dormer window was just enough to allow navigation through its cluttered interior. I was just about to turn back to the stairs when I thought I heard a very slight thudding sound just barely discernible. I almost dismissed it as probably coming from outside since I knew the house was entirely unoccupied. But I realized that the sound had come from not one of the dormers, but from this side of the brickwork which on this side included a wide fireplace. I tentatively stepped closer and was astonished to hear a rapping from the wall. There were three very distinctive thuds. I was not sure why I responded that way but I took up an iron from the fireplace and hit the wall also three times. And I was almost about ready to believe in ghosts when the wall itself seemed to reverberate from another series of rapping thuds. I ran back into the first room only to discover that there was absolutely no one there nor could the sound have originated there. There was a substantial thickness to the wall.

Five minutes later I was attacking the wall with gusto as the sounds would not quit. Nor did they seem to allow any doubt that they had their source in some definite intelligence as my varying number of raps were returned by the same number. Soon I was able to dislodge one of the large bricks with the long poker and was totally flabbergasted to hear a human voice coming from inside the wall. It seemed to be both excited and frightened at the same time, and as I dislodged more bricks, spoken with a very strange patois. Eventually enough space was cleared for me to look into the face and eyes of a thoroughly frightened black boy probably about 12 or 13 years of age. And sure enough I had not been mistaken. He was addressing me as sir and 'massa,' and taking on an air of extreme subservience. My mind was trying to make sense of something that did not seem to allow sense to be made of it. Finally with strength born of desperation I finally opened enough space and a near naked boy in a very strange pair of baggy pants emerged. He looked thoroughly exhausted and his hands were quite battered. And he smelled.

"Thanks so very much sir, I thoughts I was a gonner." His voice was quite raspy. "Can you please gives me some watah?"

At least that's what I thought he said but his accent was so pronounced I could not be certain. And as I pulled him free, the rank odor of sweat, urine, and unwashed body was almost overwhelming. And it must have been 90 degrees or more [32°C] in what now appeared to be a small confining space. Who the hell had bricked up a boy into a wall! In spite of my usual aversion to rank odor and filth I picked up the slight form of a now nearly collapsed boy and carried him down the stairs and placed him onto a bed in the first room I came to.

The nearly comatose boy, looked about with wild eyes and remarked in a raspy voice: "Oh no sir, not in massa's bed without him here! I'd get the tar beat out a' me!"

What the hell was this apparently deranged boy talking about? Well I was more concerned with his apparent sad physical state. The first order of business was to get some water from the bathroom.

"Look kid, I'm the only one here and just lay there and I will get you some water."

The boy finally just collapsed and nodded. "Thanks sir. I'd be mighty obliged."

After three glasses the boy seemed revived enough to answer some questions. After about ten minutes of incredulous conversation I was almost starting to believe his impossible tale. He claimed that the date was 1864 and he was a slave to the present owner, a Mr. Thomas Steddler, retired businessman and resident of a town whose name I didn't recognize. I was amazed at the boy's understanding of exactly how the Yankees were presently defeating the army of the Confederacy and that Toby, the boy's name, was happy not just to be alive but so utterly concerned about the outcome of the war. And it was also the way he seemed to use language, and in his totally servile demeanor which was almost starting to convince me of his impossible tale. But what finally convinced me that he at least BELIEVED his own tale was how he reacted to the simple use of my cell phone.

"Sir, how is that voice coming out of that thing?" He seemed totally mesmerized by my Blackberry and delighted in making the small screen light up. Finally I decided to snap his picture and he was totally incredulous when he saw his own face peering out of the small screen. "Sir you have a magic box! How did you put me in there?"

I decided that at least for the time being I had to assume that he believed his own story. Either he was telling what he considered the truth or he was the greatest little actor in the country. But no matter what I said he kept insisting that he had to clean himself up for when his master returned. And no matter what I said I couldn't seem to convince him that he was a hundred and fifty years passed when slaves and masters existed. Another mystery which I knew I would have to investigate was how the hell did this poor boy get trapped inside a wall.

"Look kid, I mean Toby, there is no master returning. I now own this house and I do agree that you could use a bath."

"But where's Massa Tom? He'd beat me bad if'n he sees me like this in his room." And having looked just past my shoulder he added: "An' where's 'is big 'armar'?" I wasn't even sure what a 'armar' was until the boy described it for me. I supposed he meant an armoire. And as I scrutinized the closet next to the door, I could see that it had been added to the room at a later date. Wow. It was getting real hard to believe that this kid was not for real.

"Toby, how about we get you cleaned up, your hands looked after and some food inside you. You said you were starving."

"Thanks sir, I'd better gets up to help Miss Betty wid stokin' the stove. That's if'n I could please have a hot bath."

It took all the persuasive ability I had to convince the boy that there was no Miss Betty, and no need to bring any water to a boil. I finally convinced him when I brought him into the bathroom and turned on the hot faucet on the old claw foot tub. Toby was totally amazed at all he saw. I knew that he was either telling the truth or so into his delusion that it didn't matter when I saw him inspecting every little detail of what he claimed was a room out of a magic land. He first kept touching everything and commenting avidly about how strange everything was. "What's the white coating sir?" Or turning about for the fifth time adding: "I's never seen such a perfec' lookin' glass before." He kept turning the spigot on and off over the tub and putting his hand under the faucet. "What makes the water come out?" Then he moved over to the toilet and asked what it was used for. Wow, that was a strange conversation. He finally practically put his head into the bowl of the toilet watching the water come out from under the rim. He cringed when the water met his abused fingers but steadfastly felt around. I suspected his tolerance for pain was much better than mine.

He was amazed at every little thing. But what truly got to him was when I eventually turned on the light because of the late hour. He reached out to the bulb and yelped when he burnt his finger.

"Sir, how do you put the flame into that glass ball? And make it so bright?"

Explaining about electricity was seemingly not possible with his current knowledge. And I was likewise amazed when I looked at his baggy pant like garment. And taken with his cute black body since there was no garment under it. No underwear at all. I asked him about that.

"But Massa, no 'spensive drawers would be givin' to a Nigra! 'Sides too scratchy. Only Massa had those special cotton ones."

If anything convinced me that something mighty strange was happening, and that just possibly he was indeed from the past, it was that garment which I fingered and examined despite its filth and strong odor. And I smiled as the small black boy took a child's delight with a tub full of hot sudsy water.

"Wow, maybe I's startin' to believes you sir. Fire in that glass ball and hot water comin' out a spout. You must have a powerful stove going somewheres to make all this hot water. Miss Betty, well I means someone must be powerful busy."

I rummaged through my own clothing trying to find something for the boy to wear. He said he was not quite 14 years of age and he looked quite small for that age and his genitals I noticed were quite undeveloped. And I would sure be better able to stand being in the same room with him after his bath. I wrapped his pants in a plastic bag I'd brought some of my own clothes in and put aside a pair of pants which I hastily destroyed by cutting off the bottom foot [30 cm], and a shirt which I did a similar thing to its sleeves. I would have to be buying the boy some clothes if he were going to venture out of the house. I was also at a quandary about notifying the authorities. He claimed to have no family left – especially considering his only brother had to have died more than a hundred years ago. (I was still trying to wrap my mind about this time travel business). And I was also hoping that his poor fingers would not need a doctor. How the hell was I going to explain him? I smiled as I heard him singing a simple tune about Camptown ladies or some such. I supposed it was mid 1800s vintage. The boy was in some ways very typical boy. He seemed to take delight in the smallest of things. There was no food at all in the house and I decided not to introduce the boy to the 21st century quite yet. I again got on the phone and ordered a large carton of chicken from a nearby KFC along with all the trimmings and several drinks.

"Look, I know you said you don't deliver, but this is an emergency. I can't leave right now. I tell you what. There's an extra fifty dollar bill awaiting you if you can get the food here."

I could hear the lad's excitement through the connection. I had at least solved the immediate problem of dinner. And I was wondering what Toby's reaction would be to the other modern marvels of the 21st century. Damn I was actually believing his story as impossible as it had to be. But I decided to work on the assumption that he was indeed a slave boy from the 1860s until evidence proved that theory wrong.

I brought the clothing back to the bathroom and Toby was now standing up in the tub with not the slightest concern for modesty. He smiled and asked: "Sir, if'n you gets the buckets I'd be willin' to help empty this tub. It's lookin' to be a real chore."

I tried to refrain from laughing. I put my hand into the tub now filled with remarkably dirty water and pulled the plug. I also drew the plastic shower curtain about the end of the tub and turned on the overhead spray. "This will help you rinse off Toby."

Toby delighted in the overhead spray but kept reaching down to the drain.

"Sir, where's all that water a goin'? It's jus like Miss Betty's… I mean the new sink in the kitchen which shunts its water to an outside spout." And he looked over the side of the tub. "But I don't see any spout."

More explanations were needed. And the more I tried to explain, the more difficult it became. I never realized how complicated the 21st century was to someone 150 years out of date. I wondered how the heck I was going to explain TV's or i-pods or cars. Or airplanes! Hell, I realized that I was getting as excited as little Toby. I was thrilled to have him with me and found my own delight in introducing him to modern technology and life 150 years into his future. And I just realized. How the hell was I going to explain that he was no longer a slave? Of course that was one thing I was pretty sure he'd take to quite enthusiastically. (Damn, I was going to find out just how wrong I could be.) And was I also in for a couple of other shocks before the night was done. And how the hell was I going to explain the boy's existence to my friends? I suddenly realized that I had absolutely no intention in giving the boy over to the authorities. He'd be ground to a pulp if placed into the uncaring and dysfunctional child care system which occupied much of this country.

The boy laughed hysterically at the clothing and its lack of fit and I had to improvise with a cord to use as a make-shift belt.

"Wow. The cloth is so smooth! And soft! You shouldn't na wrecked no clothing jus' for me sir. An' what's happened sir?" He kept looking about him. "Everything's so changed."

Toby tried to explain what had happened to him from his perspective and lacking any other reasonable explanation I had to believe him. And it was actually more difficult to convince him that he was now 150 years into the future. I tried to show him the date on the newspaper – he was familiar with that although he asked how the pictures were done in color – but I found he couldn't read. I was also surprised that he was more amazed at a zipper than he was at the television. And more taken with hot water coming out of a spigot than my computer. And he played more with my ball point pen than he did my cell phone.

But it still took a short trip outside to see my rented car and the street lights to finally convince him that yes indeed he was 'not in Kansas' any more. Or in mid-1800s Missouri. At least he was reassured when he recognized some of the nearby landmarks in the waning light of evening.

"What's a' happened to the ol' barn? An' the old slave's quarters?"

Soon after we returned inside I heard the front door bell ring. Toby turned and looked up at the sound. "What's that sound about sir? It sounds mighty strange."

It was actually a series of notes instead of a bell. I urged him to stay in the kitchen as I answered the front door. Twenty minutes later Toby had demolished much of the food even if he balked at the carbonated drink. He was asking all kinds of questions but I could see him getting quite anxious about something. He finally asked a question in a very timid voice filled with some fear and anxiety.

"Sir, what's goin' to happin' to me? Will you be my massa now?"

"Toby, there is no more slavery. You talked about Lincoln? Well after the war slavery was abolished."

He looked up at me and started crying. "I'm really free? Our dream did come true? It's hard to believes after all the years of war and bein' in a state where there still was slaves. 'Specially after almos' all the others gots to be free."

(Only because I had been a history major and read extensively about the western expansion, did I finally recall that the original Emancipation Proclamation only freed the slaves in the states of the Confederacy. So Missouri – until the adoption of the 13th Amendment – still had slavery until December of 1865).

I tried to fill him in with some history but didn't get much passed the western expansion. He still seemed even more worried than ever. Finally I realized what was his worry.

"Look Toby, don't worry about how you're going to live. I will take care of you. I always wanted a son anyway."

Toby looked at me wide eyed. "But you canst be my papa. I'm a niggra."

"Oh boy are you in for a surprise. Let me show you something. I retrieved the day's newspaper from St. Louis. The president's candidate's prominent on the front page.

"See that black man in that picture?"

"I never seen a picture put into a paper before. In fact the only picture I'd ever seen is,… I mean was on the mantle in the parlor. Massa Tom went all the way into St. Louie to gets it done."

I was trying to remember just when photography first was available and remembered that there were many photos of Lincoln and from the Civil War.

"Well that man there is right now is president. So you see. Black people have come quite a long way since slavery."

Toby looked at me with wide eyes and ran into the other room. He looked around seemingly totally lost. I followed.

"What's wrong Toby? I didn't mean to upset you."

"I was hopin' whats you said about me bein' took care of was the truth even if it was too fantastical. But you been a flannel mouthin' all along."

Toby was crying again. Damn! Now what?

"Toby, why do you think I'm lying?"

"No niggra can even vote. That's almost as crazy as sayin' a woman was president. Can't never happin'"

"OK Toby, I tell you what. First thing tomorrow we get you some clothes that fit and I take you out in that car I showed you and I will show you that black and white people mix like there's no difference." (Only a slight lie). "And not only will I prove that a black person is president but he beat out a woman for the nomination."

Toby looked at me and I could see he wanted to believe me, even if he claimed that I must be a bit 'tiched.' "Truth?"

"Absolutely Toby."

"But you also said you be my Papa? How can that happin'? No white man can have a niggra for a son. Least he willin' to say out loud. Though I knows Massa Tom's brother had a boy by Miss Betty onced. He was sold a while back. Miss Betty was real broken up by that too."

Toby was frequently speaking about things that happened 150 years before as if they'd just happened. But of course to him they had. I could see him thinking and realizing that Miss Betty and her bastard son were long gone.

"I guess they's all dead now. Sames wid my brother."

Toby started crying again as the implication of such things were starting to sink in. And with only a little coaxing, he let me take him into my arms. I couldn't believe how small he was for being nearly 14. He seemed very hesitant at first to reciprocate but finally he needed the comfort and hugged me quite tightly. I tried not to think of the very inappropriate boner pushing against my pant leg.

A muffled voice finally spoke as the tears stopped: "Please sir, I needs you to help me. I wants to believe you."

I carried him to the couch and sat with him still in my arms. He couldn't have weighed more than 70 pounds [32 kg].

"I promise you boy I will take good care of you. And I know you can't believe me right now but I fully intend to raise you as my own son."

"I'll try to believes you sir. But it's too strange."

"And Toby stop calling me sir. My name is Ben. Call me Ben."

"Can'st do that. Not proper."

I gave out a big sigh. What a strange turn of events. I never believed I'd ever be a father. Let alone be one for a former black slave boy from the past. No one would believe me of course. And I hated surprises! But I was starting to realize that I was sure liking this one. I just hoped Toby wouldn't just disappear as strangely as he had appeared. I also realized I was going to have to call Amelia, the only one I'd ever trust this with. Toby needed a birth certificate. Strangely I realized that the very last thing I was going to do was contact the authorities about him. Either he was delusional or he really was from the past. In either case his life would become a total nightmare and ordeal. And truth be told I was starting to get attached to the kid. I discovered that not only had I absolutely no plans to foist him onto anyone else, I WANTED him as my own. Maybe it was mid-life crisis coming a little early but I suddenly realized just how lonely I was.

And my next surprise, or I should say shock, came an hour later. Toby was hungry again in short order and polished off a couple more pieces of KFC's original recipe.

The boy's smile was heartwarming as he commented: "Almos' as good as Miss Betty's."

Well the Colonel would never know. Then I watched the boy eat the chicken with his greasy fingers and wondered how he was going to cope with no Miss Betty, no Massa Steddler, nothing he was familiar with. Then I was also wondering if he even had any friends. Or even if he ever had gotten time to just enjoy himself.

But right now it was fast approaching bed time. I was exhausted from the long day and I could see Toby almost wilting on the spot. Or as he stated, he was "all clapped out." I got another bed ready in another room and put a reluctant boy into it. He didn't want to be alone and I couldn't exactly blame him.

"Don't worry Toby. I'll be right in the next room."

As I was getting ready for bed myself I couldn't stop thinking about what all I needed to do. I was starting to do what I was good at – planning things in great detail. But now I was getting all kinds of second thoughts and even doubts. I couldn't put an add in the paper: "WANTED: Nanny. Needs experience raising former slaves. Teaching experience helpful. A good understanding of 19th century US culture a definite plus."

Ten minutes later, just as I was about to doze off myself, I felt a small body climb into my bed and snuggle up close. I almost stopped him but I realized that he must have been quite frightened and totally unsettled as he had lost his entire world and all the people he had known. And I also realized that I liked having him in my arms. We both quickly fell to sleep.

And I awoke startled the next morning having probably the first wet dream since I was a teen myself. And I was totally shocked to find out why. Toby was masturbating me!

I had all I could do to stop myself from lashing out at him. This was totally inappropriate to say nothing about landing me in jail for a million years if anyone ever found out.

As much as I was so totally turned on by having that small black boy handling my modest 6 inches [15 cm], I had to stop him. I pulled his hand away and he looked at me questioningly.

"Massa? You don't likes it?"

"Toby, it's not right. A man shouldn't allow a boy to touch him like that."

"But I's did it all the time for Massa Tom. And even other stuff. He said it was my duty. I was his comfort boy he said."

I pulled a frightened boy into my arms. And I realized then that he was entirely naked. And sporting his own small black projection. I couldn't stop noting the huge contrast between his very black skin next to mine and I was not exactly 'lily white' myself with both Italian and Spanish heritage in my genes. And I was also afraid that I could so easily be tempted to let the boy continue.

He started shaking, apparently I belatedly realized, in fear. "Please Massa, I be a good boy. I do whats you wants."

I didn't know whether to laugh, scream, or cry. All my emotions were mixed up, and there definitely was a bit of lust mixed in which I would give more thought to later. But now this poor boy needed understanding and help.

"Please listen Toby. There has not been slavery for 150 years. You are NOT a slave. Not mine, not anyone's. I would prefer to think of you as a son I never had if you would let me."

He started to shake his head. "And don't say I can't act as your father just because I'm white and you're black."

Toby started crying again and grabbed me in a hug. "Nobody has cared for me like that since Mama died. But people gonna think it mighty strange n' all. A' course, ol' Mis'a Terrance raise Benji like 'is son when nobody was lookin'. Benji, he tol' me hisself. Swore me to secret; even used his Massa's Bible. But in town Benji was still his Niggra slave. A' course he sent Benji north when all the killin' started and when Quantrill came. But Benji also told me Mis'a Terrance actually WAS his real papa."

"Well Toby, I think you're in for some surprises. Mostly good ones I hope. I will show you how the world has changed. Black people and white people mix a lot more these days. And even sometimes marry and have kids together."

Toby seemed to want to not believe me. And was a bit mystified by my use of the word 'black' instead of 'nigra' or colored, or whatever. "That's not just bosh? Sure seems impossible." Of course I had to explain how coloreds or niggras were not terms currently used.

We talked some more and all through breakfast. When I turned on the sealed top electric burner of a modern range, Toby burned another finger trying to touch it.

"How you gets the fire in there Mr. Ben? 'N where's the trivet?" Toby had been watching my every move and offered to help. But bacon and eggs were pretty easy. I had quickly gone to a local convenience store while I had Toby 'wash up.' He was genuinely shocked when I told him that most people showered or bathed completely every day. He was still not too sure that it wasn't 'bad for you.' And I couldn't stop him from making the bed and straightening up. And he seemed to have absolutely no modesty. He said that 'Massa Tom' liked to see him naked when it was just the two of them.

"He sur'in liked to touch me. 'Spechly my boy parts. I even did lots a' other things wid 'im. He said it wasn't wrong when it was a massa n' his slaveboy. He said that right in his Bible it said I had to obey him all the times. 'Course I never took much truck in the white man's church. Even if mos' the niggra's about these parts had their own singin' church theys went to."

Toby was sure no longer afraid to talk. And I finally got him from calling me sir or massa all the time. And at least got him into my cut off pants. I looked at his bare feet and was shocked at the calluses on such a young boy. I was wondering later if I was even going to get him to wear shoes. He did say that he trudged about in a old pair of galoshes when there was snow on the ground specially when he had to tend to the chickens and hogs. And that brought up another thing he had trouble with.

"You mean I don't needs ta gather the eggs n' all? Who's gonna do the feedin' an' all the other work then?"

That was when I showed him the carton the eggs had come in and the container of milk. Of all the things he seemed so amazed about was the milk container. To me it was merely a plastic jug. To Toby it was a 'pure wonder.' He also asked me where the ice was put for the 'cold box.' And one of his questions had me laughing before I could stop myself.

"But Mr. Ben, how's the box stay cold wid no ice and even that little flame in there?"

He still couldn't grasp the idea of a light not having a flame of some sort. And how everything was so bright. And how hot the house was "specially in the mornin'." And how come there was no place for the fires any more in the kitchen. I spent a straight half hour trying my best to explain things. Even the rug on the floor was 'an amazement' to use his own words. Finally we had eaten and he couldn't stop looking at me like I was totally deranged when I helped him clear the table and wash the dishes. He just couldn't quite grasp the concept of a white person actually helping with a slave's chores. I wondered what he'd say about all the labor saving devices we had these days. It seemed that the house didn't have a dish washer or even a microwave. Finally I sat him down in front of an old fashioned color TV and put on some ubiquitous kids show. But I stopped at this channel because it showed a bunch of kids in school – both black and white.

Of course the very first thing he did was try to look into the back of the TV to see where the picture came from.

Well perhaps not; that was the second thing. The first wad to squeal quite loudly and put his hands over his eyes.

"Mr. Ben, they's mos' naked!"

Eventually I understood what both fascinated him and appalled him at the same time. To see white boys, and especially girls, so totally unclothed. At least compared to his era.

He had a hard time believing that their lack of dress was normal. But he nonetheless seemed to enjoy watching. He just kept up a series of exclamations.

Then eventually came all the questions how they put moving people into that small box. Hell I couldn't even answer many of his questions. How many people even know how a TV actually works? I would have been better of just telling the boy it was magic. But the kids – especially the black kids who acted 'jus as if they were jus like white folk' as Toby put it – had him most amazed of all I had shown him so far. Then when the ads came on it was even worse. He seemed not able to understand the very idea of an advertisement. Although I knew that the newspapers and magazines of his day did advertise. Of course he couldn't read either. And then I was flabbergasted when I told him I would teach him to read. He even started crying.

"I 'allis' wanted to learn my letters but Massa Tom, he was pretty strict sayin' no niggra needed any truck wid book things. Said it was 'gainst nature. Tho I's knows fo' sure that Massa Bently's slave Ben in town could even do numbers. He tried to teach me once."

I finally was able to leave the house to buy him some clothes from the shopping mall at the edge of town. I had to promise Toby ten times I was coming back. And I also had trouble making him understand why I didn't want him outside by himself yet. I had to use some self control (and common sense) not to do what I had been tempted and just ordered him to stay there. Though he was so used to simply obeying that I was pretty sure I could trust him.

Finally I just found a WalMart Super Store for one stop shopping and picked out a bunch of underwear, socks, shirts, pants, and running shoes of varying sizes since I had trouble explaining to the clerk exactly how big, or small, Toby was. Mentioning that he was almost 14 in fact caused problems until I reassured her that Toby was quite small for his age. Gees. Most the time at a WalMart you couldn't find a clerk to help you if your life depended on it.

And who would ever believed that getting Toby properly 'dressed' would have caused such a spectacle. I don't say problem because it was more trying to convince him to actually wearing underwear and socks was 'normal.' Although he had quite a lot of fun putting on everything. But to him it was more a game than anything else. Like when he kept snapping the elastic around the briefs I got him. I was trying to remember if they had elastic back then. Apparently not. Of course the 'fun' ended when I told him he had to wear shoes. Damn his feet were big for his little body. And way too wide for their length. It was things like his feet and how they were shaped and all those thick calluses which kept convincing me that he indeed WAS a boy from the 1860s. Of the three sizes of shoes I'd bought even the largest barely fit.

"Mr. Ben, hows come I needs shoes? 'Specially in summer?"

And that was another thing which amazed Toby. It was now late Summer and not Spring. And even though we talked about it a few times and even went back up to the attic to examine with good light the space Toby had been trapped in, neither of us could come to any conclusion as to why or how. Of course it required a twenty minute time detour to let him take the flashlight totally apart several times trying to figure out how it made its light. Again how do you explain batteries to a person from 1860s? Though I think the battery and incandescent bulb was not common until well after the Civil War period. I was trying to remember just when Edison did his pioneering work. Heck I don't even think the incandescent mantle for gas light came about until 20 or more years later. Talk about the 'dark' ages. No wonder so many people went to bed with the sun and rose with it.

We searched the attic in vain. As for how he had gotten here, the only thing I was sure of was that this blue light he seemed to fall into had something to do with it. And about the space there was nothing remarkable. I noted that it had just been formed because of the old stone chimney, together with a newer brick one, left this space and to partition off the attic it had been simpler just to extend the brick wall. I also decided that Toby's constitution was a lot better than mine. The smell of that small space alone would have sent me over the edge. And damn that was another thing which was so obvious but only after Toby mentioned it. He asked how come the air – even outside – smelled so strange. I guess 21st century suburban St. Louis had a lot more pollutants in the air than I realized. But Toby knew it right off even if he didn't understand why or even the source of the odor.

Getting back to the shoes, I finally relented. In the house they could be removed. He gave a big sigh and quickly took them off. And that was when I noticed him walking around a couple of the rooms looking in corners, at the walls, and especially the floor. I was wondering what that was all about other than pure curiosity since most of the items were different from 150 years ago. But his next question floored me.

"Mr. Ben, who you gets to do all the cleanin'? They's sure do a good job."

In point of fact no one had cleaned in quite some time. Just a service I had come by several days before I got there myself to take all the covers off everything and air the place out. I was totally puzzled.

"Toby. No one's been here to clean in some time. How come you ask such a strange question?"

"But even the weird windows n' walls are so clean." Those 'weird' windows I finally realized he was referring to was the fact that their panes of glass were so perfectly smooth and large. Apparently windows in his day, when they used glass, were a composition of many small panes. But it took me another day to finally realize how come everything seemed so clean to him. No fires, no coal or wood heat, and in fact, no dust and dirt blowing into the house from all sorts of cracks and all. Even the outdoors no longer had so much dust and all blowing around. And that elicited another strange comment when we finally DID get out and started driving around. (Besides all the nearly 'half-nekkid' people). All the streets themselves were so clean! Well we were far enough out of town that there was not the usual city trash here and there but it took a few questions before I realized he was talking about horses. Or more specifically no horse manure all over the place. And he had to get out of the car and examine the black stuff that coated the roadway. Parts of St Louis had been cobbled but asphalt was out of Toby's experience.

"Mr. Ben. What's they do wid all the horses?"

How do you answer a question like that?

Fortunately within a week Toby had pretty much adapted to the 21st century even if I still had trouble trying to explain things. I of course became so conscious of the need for him to get a proper education. But his native intelligence was relatively good. Even in one week I had him reading several easy books I'd found again in WalMart. He was picking up things pretty fast. Of course that was when I could stop him from merely pouring through all the pictures over which his amazement never ceased. I was absolutely surprised that when I asked him to pick out a few picture books, the first one he chose was a National Geographic. (Eventually I purchased several expensive photo books of places around the world over which he could sit for hours seemingly setting the photos to memory). I even had him doing simple arithmetic. And that occasioned the very first time he'd gotten angry at me, or at least showed his anger. But what also amazed me was that the more he became animated at all things life had to offer, the more alive I became sharing his enthusiasm. I found myself so quickly finding myself so happy just to have this amazing boy just near me.

He had been laboring over his times tables – never quite stopped being amazed at a simple BIC pen and white lined tablet – when he discovered I failed to show him WHY four times five equaled 20. It had never occurred to me to think about it since it was so obvious after using multiplication all my life.

"Mr. Ben how comes, … I mean how come you didn't 'splain, I's mean explain it right? Look it's easy 'onced' you knows why!"

His English was slowly improving but he reverted when excited. And I guess I failed to explain carefully enough exactly how multiplication was just 'fast adding.' (Now if I could stop him from putting S's and D's on so many words).

The week had gone so fast, and I felt like an entirely different person with renewed energy and a new wonder at the world as I started seeing things from Toby's perspective. And except for periods of melancholy and sadness now and then, Toby was a bundle of fun. I mean he seemed to find almost everything a source of fun and delight. I knew enough psychology from basic courses to know that people who had for so long had little in their lives, they took such amazing amusement and pleasure in things the average people would almost dismiss out of hand. And every once in a while I was again reminded that Toby's world perception was so different from the usual. Many of the electronic wonders were already starting to become 'normal' items of use. And even after hours of 'fun', study and play, he could suddenly revert to such a submissive and subservient personality. Especially when I took on my usual role of command, even when I was addressing someone else.

I had eventually gotten Toby into his first ever 'store-bought' clothes – the zippers and elastic fascinated him – and his ill fitting shoes, and brought him to the mall. Every sight was more fascinating than the last. And the people fascinated him the most.

"Mr. Ben, how come they's so undressed! It's not proper." He kept putting his hand over his eyes yet peeking through his fingers. "Are there so many easy women 'roun here?"

Of course trying to explain just how come there were so many 'easy women' or so few clothes worn by people, was almost impossible to explain. That explanation – or a try at one – kept us at it until the mall. Of course, even if through openings in his fingers held over his eyes he still gleefully kept pointing out all the half naked 'women's busts' he kept seeing. Though I also noted he seemed to direct his gaze to some of the guys and their quite evident packages. And that time next to a park, he had me stop to watch several older teens throwing about a Frisbee. And it wasn't the wonderful floating 'lid' he was most interested in. The boys were only wearing shorts.

The mall was the occasion of another million questions. Things we all just take as the norm drew nearly incredulous exclamations. The covered 'roadway,' the huge glass windows, and the millions of products. And the bright colors of everything. And I just could not help myself. I took us into a Radio Shack and bought Toby a remote control helicopter and one of those flying bugs. When I told him that both could fly just like (or similar to) a bird, he started doubting me. He didn't challenge me in his words, but his demeanor told me he was going to allow me this 'fib.' I couldn't wait until he would see his first jet plane. It took a promise of new clothes – that he could pick out – to get him out of the store of wonders. And it took us more than two hours in two department stores to get him a minimal wardrobe. Of course I had to first convince him that he did need more than one change of clothing. Of course this didn't stop him from having fun trying on all the things. He couldn't get over how 'smooth' everything was or how soft. I think he drove the sales people crazy until I found one who seemed just as happy as Toby to allow him his pure delight in putting on all those things.

"Your boy, a foster kid or something?"

"Or something. He's never had very much."

"Some accent. Where's he from? Some poor country somewhere?"

"Where he's from kids like him were put to work and had no say in anything. He lost his mother several years ago and his brother, his last relative, about six months ago. Thanks for putting up with his antics."

"No problem. He seems to have taken to you. Been with you very long?"

I couldn't believe it. It was not even a full week but I probably felt more for this boy already then anyone for years. "You would not believe this but less than five days. And he still gets spooked easily. So thanks again."

After the first hour of trying on clothes and shoes – I had to almost force him to try the shoes – he finally came out with one outfit and one jacket. I had to convince him that I was very rich and could buy the entire store if I wanted. (He didn't believe me).

When we got home, after a long stop at a grocery store which possibly surprised him even more than the mall, we made our way home. I noticed that first day that he had trouble with his hands and applied some zylocane on occasion to the worst spots. I couldn't believe it but he had been putting those hands into hot soapy water without complaint. I quickly realized that I had been quite remiss about his health needs. I was trying to figure out how to get him to a doctor without raising questions that I could not, or did not, want to answer. I decided that as soon as Amelia could get here I had several more tasks for her. She had provided me with other 'sources' of not quite legal 'expertise' before. She knew me well enough to know that I would never actually do anything to hurt someone. To her only 'moral' or 'ethical' were necessary. I got her on her cell so that she might be able to get started on a few of them. I fortunately caught her on her way to the airport. She had informed me that she had already had Toby's not quite legal birth certificate on its way. Now that first time explaining had been quite some conversation.

"Ben, let me get this straight. You need a birth certificate for a boy of not quite 14 years of age, an African American. Now what are you not telling me? Is this a kid you fathered yet never mentioned? I thought you were exclusively gay."

"It is definitely not my kid but I intend to raise him. It would also help if you could make his first name Toby. I suspect it would be difficult for him to have to get used to something different although we could always tell people Toby was a nick name or something."

"So let's see. In two days you have managed to get your name blackballed in Austin society by rumors cast about by a respected member of the bar. The buzz around town is that you are, and I will quote, 'one of those sick preverts.' You mysteriously come into ownership of some farm in Missouri, and now you have somehow come into the possession of a 14 year old black kid. Anything else I need to know about?"

She thought she was being funny. But she was almost as black as Toby so I had a sudden idea.

"When you get here I would hope that your use of words like possession and ownership as regards Toby will be not bandied about. It is impossible to explain on the phone. And yes, I can hear your protestations of my no longer being able to order you about, but I need you. And Toby could use your presence too. And not just because you both are black. And several more things. It has just occurred to me that Toby should be examined by a doctor. Nothing really wrong but just for a general check up and also some vaccinations and the like. He has never had any of the normal shots."

"Stop. Ben just stop right there. I need to think."

I was suddenly worried. "You mean you are finally balking at one of my not quite legal requests at this late date?"

"Not that Ben. It's just I need to get my mind around this thing. And before I commit myself I need to think if I am actually the best person to see about these things. And also I need to figure what I will tell my ever faithful but frequently suspicious husband. He likes to have me around most of the time."

"Look Amelia, use your own judgment. Tell him what you want. But I just want to make sure Toby is able to stay with me. If he gets into the system it will chew him up and spit him out. He is too vulnerable. Look, you know me. I wouldn't be doing this just for myself, even though I now have to admit I'm getting quite attached to the boy."

"But Ben, why you? Now before you get your knickers in a twist just hear me out. You know I'm not prejudiced – or at least not to any terrible degree – but don't you think that if this boy is as vulnerable as you say, maybe a black family would be better equipped?"

"One problem. Unless you think you and Garret would not mind raising him. He CAN NOT be discovered by anyone in officialdom. And as soon as you can get here I will explain why. The situation is unique. And I just thought about this. I suppose he could use a dentist visit too."

"Where the hell did you find this kid Ben? From some third world country?"

"If it were only that simple." Then I used a card I just realized I had. Amelia was truly a sucker for kids. "Tell you what. How about I let you speak with Toby for a minute. I'll let him ask you to come help him."

Of course I forgot that Toby had never used a phone before. He tried to ask how it was I could talk to someone hundreds of miles away.

"Look Toby just say hello."

"Jus' talk into this here thing?"

"Yes. You will hear her voice."

Toby was mystified but also enthusiastic. He did after all know about telegraph. But those things needed wires and only clicked.

"Her name is Amelia and she is a lawyer and I am trying to get her to come here to help us out." Amelia was listening in and I wondered what she was thinking about all this.

"Yes massa." (Damn! In his excitement he reverted. I needed to break him of that habit). "Whats you wants me to say"?

Finally I got him to speak into the little cell phone.

"Hello Miss. 'Melia? Can you hears me?"

"Yes Toby. Is Ben taking good care of you?"

"Oh yes, yes Miss 'Melia. Powerful good care. Mr. Ben, he bought me all kinds of wonderful things."

At least he didn't use 'Massa Ben' this time.

"Where are you from Toby? Mr. Ben didn't say."

"Right here Miss. 'Melia. I's from right here… Oh, an' Mr. Ben wants me to ast yous to comes here. I hopes it don't takes too long. Mr. Ben says you's all the way down in Texas."

"I will be there tomorrow Toby."

"But that's at leas' a two week trip."

"Two weeks? I'm just several hundred miles away. How about you let me speak to Mr. Ben now please."

"Yes'm Miss 'Melia."

I took the small cell phone and got immediately blasted – verbally. "You Mr. Ben are a scoundrel and a scallywag. You know I can not resist a mystery. Nor a plea from a small child. And where in tarnation did he get that accent? I could barely understand him. And how do you know he's 14? He sounds much younger."

"He told me he was almost 14. But things are complicated. So you are coming then I take it?"

"Definitely. First flight tomorrow. And I fully expect the absolute best in VIP treatment. And YOU waiting at the airport. And about my last bonus, well I see that it was not enough. We will talk about that later. I now have to figure out what to tell my long suffering husband. He might just have to look up that secretary of his if I keep this up."

We talked about arrangements and tentative plans. I told her there was plenty of room right here at the farm house (which was no longer in farm country the suburbs having all but grown around it).

"Just one more thing. See if you can arrange to get me some cash. Say about 20 thousand. I just want to be prepared."

"How about your personal accounts Bill? That should be easy for you?"

"Don't want the money traceable. Just in case I need to bribe a few people. Look, it's all in a good cause. You'll see."

Toby could not be convinced that a person could get all the way from Texas to St. Louis in less than a day. And even if he took such delight in his helicopter and flying bug – he was amazingly adept in using the controls even if he thought it was all magic – he still balked at the idea of a plane big enough to actually put a person in.

"Besides, Mr. Ben, I get a scared bein' a whole story up, but all the way into the sky – well no one would do that."

And at the mention of 20 thousand dollars he now positively knew I was bonkers. "Not even the King of England or even that train guy is that rich I bet."

The week was an amazing whirlwind of strangeness. Even with Amelia here. Of course every time one 'problem' got solved, two others took its place. We eventually did get Toby to a good doctor and a dentist but that was the least of our problems.

The very next day I drove Toby and myself the 8 miles [13 km] to the St. Louis Airport and of course this brought all manner of wonderment to Toby's eyes. Even after getting the helicopter and bug last night to fly all over the house. I was amazed. In just 20 minutes Toby was able to handle the controls as if he'd been born in the technology age. All week I noted just how adaptable the boy was. And he literally brought me to life. I never realized how much my real life had degenerated into making money, attending meetings, and running an 'empire,' all the while not really living.

But it was that very second night when the next crisis occurred. Or next two crises. That is if making Toby take a bath two times in the same week can be called a crisis. I found it very difficult to understand Toby's seeming aversion to a bath.

"Yes Massa. I means Mr. Ben. But how if'n I get sick? You can get the ague from too many baths."

I tried to reassure him. He had come from a era where 30% of the children never reached their 12th birthday, and many people believed that too much bathing could cause one to get sick. I really didn't want Toby to take a bath simply because I ordered him to do it. "Look Toby, I tell you what. You don't have to take a bath if you don't want to. But taking baths do not cause a person to get sick. And besides today we have doctors who can stop people from getting sick. Or cure them if they do."

I finally convinced him to get into the tub. I helped him wash his quite thick head of matted hair. He didn't get it quite clean the previous day. I realized it would be so much easier if he got a good haircut too.

But the real crisis occurred later. And it was not Toby's crisis but mine. He pleaded to let him sleep with me again. I was definitely not averse to allowing him to sleep with me. In fact I found the previous night quite comforting. And that was precisely the problem. I knew he was just a kid, and by the looks of his sexual equipment probably prepubescent or just starting to sexually mature. But DAMN, I was so attracted to his beautiful black body and charming personality. But I simply could not do that to him. He could be so easily intimidated into 'pleasuring' me as he put it this morning. Finally we compromised. He had to wear one of his pairs of under-ware. And I just prayed that I had enough self control…

Well. I did. Have enough control that is. And even after Amelia got there, we still slept together and I was pretty sure that soon Amelia would be questioning me about it. Of course it took some time to convince her that I was not totally insane, and Toby was not delusional. What finally convinced Amelia was Toby's amazingly detailed stories of his life as a slave in 1850s and 60s 'Missourah.' She even started looking up some of the names on the Internet and confirmed that Toby's knowledge of the people who lived there and of 'current events' especially having to do with the war, were remarkable. Of course that led to discussions about just how did Toby get brought into the future.

We never did come to any explanation even remotely satisfactory. The reason for what he was now calling his 'miraculous deliverance' was still over a year away. And even much longer before Toby and I actually became lovers, in spite of the fact that I knew I had been in love with him well before then. But our concern now was how to arrange for Toby to start having at least a semblance of a normal life. And get caught up with the 21st century. It helped that Toby was not just pretty intelligent, but anxious to learn. He had looked upon learning as a white mans' prerogative.

Toby later told me: "So many white folk always say that niggras can't learn book stuff. But they's wrong. Even Benji learned how to read an' write, and he was stupider than a half brained mule."

But getting back to the airport. Toby could grasp the idea of the wings of the 'bug' being able to make it fly, and even the rotating blades of the toy helicopter. But the idea of those big jets seemingly taking to the air was to him pure magic. And Bernoulli's Principle was beyond his level of knowledge yet if not his intelligence. It would be almost a year later when he would come running to me after a session with one of his home tutors when he was all excited. He'd finally learned how come a jet plane could stay in the air.

But he did kept reasonably under control. I think that being out in front of so many white people cowed him a bit. And he was so surprised to see so many "niggras jus' mixing like they was supposed to be there." And more remarkably that they never seemed to have to defer to white people. And that one couple, one white and one black, when they kissed, Toby just about came unglued. "I knows some white men take a black women to bed, but they sures don't kiss 'em."

Oh, and I somehow forgot to tell Toby that Amelia was black.

It was surprisingly difficult to find someone to be Toby's tutor. Of course they were told that we would be traveling all over the country and that the person hired would be expected to travel with us. Furthermore I needed someone who was not just knowledgeable, and credentialed, but also enthusiastic. Finally I sifted down the applicants to three. Two very young white women and one black kid just out of college. The kid was almost 27 and that was a definite bonus since he had much more experience with the real world so to speak. He'd put himself through college. There was also something about him that just felt right. Of course I had to see how Toby took to him before I was going to make a final decision.

"Toby, remember when I said I would be sort of sending you to private classes with your own teacher?"

"Yes, Mr. Ben. You gots me a teacher?"

Toby, I could see was bouncing up and down. If only all students could be as enthusiastic about going to school.

"Well, I want you to meet a person I am considering. His name is Jamal Brooks. He's from Chicago. Now only one important thing which we talked about. We can not let anyone know you are from the past. You understand?"

"Sure Mr. Ben. You said that they's maybe tries to takes me from you if'n someone found out. I be careful."

I wondered how this new tutor would react to Toby's terrible grammar. Dreadful accent. And lack of virtually any book learning. Hell I had barely gotten him through the first grade readers. And he knew almost nothing about all the electronics which kids these days understood better than their parents. Well our cover story was that he was fostered and his parents were share croppers and he'd mostly missed school. That story had the advantage in that many of the slaves Toby had been acquainted with were in fact share croppers. Missouri was a lot different than a lot of the other slave states. The slaves there had a lot more 'freedom' so to speak than those on more typical southern cotton plantations. And the last couple years Toby lived as a slave, many slaves were 'bribed' with a stake in the farms they worked on, just to keep them from joining the Union army or just running north.

I was down to three people as I said and my favorite choice was a new graduate from Chicago State University. (A place I'd not heard of).

Jamal Brooks arrived exactly on time. I'd arranged transportation to a nearby motel. He surprised me right away. Though his clothes had seen better days, he was impeccably dressed. And he spoke with a slight drawl which seemed not to have totally lost its Texas twang. His resume never mentioned any southern residence. After the usual formal greetings I showed him into the living room.

"Jamal, as I said on the phone. I fully intend to hire you with at least a year contract if my son and you can hit it off. He's from a severely disadvantaged background as I mentioned and has almost no formal education even though he recently turned 14. Although he looks more like a 12 year old."

"Sure, Mr. VonBona, I mean Ben. You've made all this just a bit mysterious. And the salary you offered I simply could not turn down. Especially when you mentioned about paying off some of my student loans if I have a successful year. But you mentioned several other applicants with actual teaching experience. I've only student taught for six months."

"You're right. There were probably several people who were interviewed on the phone who might have seemed more qualified. But teaching one on one is not the same as teaching in a class room, so much of their experience I thought immaterial. I'm sure that this will be a learning experience for not just my boy, but maybe even you. What I found in you was a certain enthusiasm. And you didn't have to hide any slight misgivings about traveling about the country with us."

I had explained that I would be possibly never staying in any one place more than several weeks at a time. That I was a would be author with enough money to be able to cater to my dreams. We discussed this briefly but then got back to basics.

"But Mr. VonBona, I'm sure there were enough people with just as much enthusiasm. Especially when they heard the salary you were offering."

I didn't mind the guy's realistic understanding of what motivated people. But I also suspected that Mr. Jamal Brooks would have been just as enthusiastic if the salary was half as much.

"Well, Mr. Brooks, as much as an education, my son needs a role model. Very seriously needs one. He needs to know that he too can be whatever he wants to be."

Jamal looked at me a while and asked: "Yes. You mentioned his background. But how would I be any more of a role model than anyone else?"

I turned around and called Toby from the other room. Jamal's eyes widened when he realized that Toby was even blacker than he was. "Toby, I would like you to meet Mr. Jamal Brooks. Mr. Jamal Brooks, this is my son Toby."

"Hello Mr. Jamal. Nice to knows you." I think Toby was even more surprised than Jamal. "You's a niggra jus like me!"

Jamal looked startled at Toby's use of that word. And I looked at Toby and spoke: "Remember Toby what I said. Most people don't like that word."

"Sorry Mr. Ben. I's tryin' but it's hard to 'member some times."

Then Toby smiled and repeated himself: "Hello Mr. Jamal. Nice to meets you. You's African jus' like me."

Jamal rose to the occasion. "Well, it's sure nice to meet you too Toby. And you can also call yourself and myself 'black' if you wish. Or otherwise there would be no objection to African American."

Toby was now very serious. "You startin' to teach me already Mr. Jamal?"

There was almost thirty minutes of their getting acquainted when I told Toby I needed to speak with Mr. Brooks in private. Some of the things Toby said I cringed at but it couldn't be helped.

"Yes, Mr. Ben. I's can finish with the dishes awhile."

Jamal started walking back and forth after Toby left. Finally he stopped and looked at me.

"Mr. VonBona. I looked you up before I decided to take this job. I know that you are quite wealthy and you have a very good reputation where it counts. And the two people I managed to talk to were quite loyal. But I have to be honest and I would hope that you could trust me to be just as honest. There has to be more to the story with Toby other than being just a sharecropper's boy. These days especially. They do get sent to school. But even more telling, I've never seen a boy speak like that. And his accent is terrible. He is barely understandable. And you have to have noticed those scars on the back of his legs. What aren't you telling me?"

Damn. I was hoping to have gotten a better read on Jamal before saying anything. I was pretty sure that Toby's real history would not be able to be kept secret especially with the time Jamal must necessarily spend with him.

"I tell you what Jamal. How about the three of us have dinner together, and just talk. And you are right. There is more to Toby's story. But I must be sure I can trust you. His welfare is dependent upon your discretion. And I am also sure you now know why I thought you'd be a good role model."

Jamal smiled: "Yes. I'm a niggra. And that will be one of the questions I'd be interested in having an answer to. How in the world, or possibly where in the world, would a small boy live to have gotten in the habit of referring to himself and other black people as niggras? And damn, Mr. VonBona, when he is around you he sometimes gets – it's hard to think of the right word – but almost servile."

We had a very pleasant dinner. Toby insisted on serving. I let him do so, deliberately trying to gauge Jamal's reaction. Toby had been learning very fast and had picked up a lot of information about everyday life in 21st century USA. And he had also lost some of his deferential manner to white people especially me. But as the meal progressed I was realizing that his manner was still so very 'slave-like' to put the precise label on it. I was almost starting to wish I had waited on this tutor thing. How is it that all my business decisions almost proved quite efficacious, whereas with a person whom I was getting to care for very much, I was making all manner of blunders?

Jamal had been asking Toby a series of innocent questions so I was totally unprepared for the next one.

"Well Toby, where did you learn to serve a meal like this?"

Toby for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes looked at me for the answer.

Jamal looked at me too and asked: "Does Toby defer to you like that all the time Mr. VonBona?"

Toby looked scared. "Don't worry Toby. I think Mr. Jamal can hear the truth. Toby you can answer however you want."

"You sure Mr. Ben?" Toby was suddenly almost in tears. "I's don't wants to be taken away."

At those words I could see real concern in Jamal's expression.

I picked Toby up and hugged him tight. "Nobody will ever take you away. I promise you. Besides, Mr. Jamal can be trusted just like Miss. Amelia." I looked to Mr. Brooks. "As I said. Toby is very vulnerable."

Toby got my attention. "OK, Mr. Ben." Toby looked at Jamal and replied: "Miss Betty showed me how to serve."

Jamal looked at Toby and then at me. He seemed to hesitate but then continued: "So Toby. Only if you want to. Do you want to tell me about Miss Betty?"

"I guess she dead a long time now. It's all hard to e'splain. She be my massa's other slave. Massa Tom. She be wid Massa Tom a long time. I's mostly did outdoor chores. I guess Massa Tom long gone too." Then he started to cry. "'N Demmy too." (I later explained just who Demmy was).

Jamal I could see was definitely not ready for what he had heard. He looked at Toby for quite some time. Then he looked at me.

"What's going on here Mr. VonBona? The boy have some head injury or something? That why his speech is so difficult to understand?"

I gave out a big sigh. I was surprised to see Toby actually now smiling. "Honest Mr. Jamal. I's grown up as Massa's Tom's slave. I's born 1850 right in this here house. It was jus' built. Right behind you was a big fireplace. An' over there was the water pump. It my job to primp it ever' mornin'. "

I quite innocently explained: "I think Toby meant 'prime.'

Toby looked at me to make sure I didn't mind him speaking about his former life. Jamal looked angry.

I continued: "Look Mr. Brooks. Whether you believe Toby's story or not he still needs a tutor. And I think you can see he'd be totally lost if he had to go to a regular school right now. How about giving it a month? You will discover Toby is a great and intelligent kid and needs all the care and help he can get."

"I can't believe you actually believe his story? Where is Toby really from?"

Instead of answering Jamal's question directly I took another tack. "Tell you what Mr. Brooks. Consider yourself on the payroll as of today. You can leave any time you want. But before you decide anything right now how about you taking Toby with you for a walk and talk with him yourself?"

Jamal took several moments and finally replied: "OK. I will do just that. I'd like to speak with him – just the two of us."

"Toby that all right with you?"

"If'n yous wants me to Mr. Ben."

"You have the button Toby?"

That was in fact a device I had specially made and it had a range of about ½ mile [800 m]. It could alert me if he was in trouble and also sent out a signal which I could locate with a directional finder I kept on my own person. It also worked like a Geo Tracker.

"And Toby, you can show Jamal around outside."

I turned back to Jamal. "Mr. Brooks. I also had you investigated. I know that everyone who knew you well stated that you were a very good person and were very loyal to your friends. I need you to be loyal to Toby right now. He needs all the care and understanding he can get. He's had a very difficult life. I would also ask you not wander too far from the grounds."

"OK. Mr. VonBona. But something here is quite strange."

"Agreed. But before you make any decisions that can't be unmade, think of Toby's welfare first."

I was getting worried. Toby took Jamal all through the house and even into the attic. And then outside. They walked around for a good while with Toby pulling Jamal by the hand here and there pointing to things. Then they sat on the porch. I almost brought Toby his jacket when the sun set but didn't want to disturb them. Toby, I had discovered, had quite a tolerance for both heat and cold. Much more so than the average person.

It was fully two and a half hours when the two of them came back inside. I was relieved to see Toby excited and laughing. And he pulled Jamal by hand towards me. "Mr. Ben, Mr. Ben, Mr. Jamal said he'd teach me! Isn't it fantastical?"

I looked up at Jamal and was relieved to see him now also smiling. "I'm quite glad to hear that Toby." I asked Jamal: "So you decided?"

"I … I don't know what quite to believe. But no one could possibly have taught a 14 year old boy everything he was telling me. And especially not with the nuances that made him so utterly convincing. Do you know that there were no cotton gins in Missouri in 1864? Or that in 1864 there were three different bits which were most popular for horses used to pull cultivators and drags? Or that you needed lots of salt in the ice cream makers so the ice can make the cream freeze? And that there was a special way to squeeze an udder when milking a cow? And Toby knows more early American history – at least all the weird detail stuff that I'd never even read in any books – then I'd ever learned in my history classes in college. And those faint scars on the back of Toby's legs were from a whipping he'd received for deliberately pushing over a bucket of milk when he learned his best friend got sold. He was eleven at the time. And though he used a different name for the disease, his mother no doubt died during a cholera epidemic. The details had me in tears."

So Jamal Brooks became Toby's tutor even if he still had a hard time 'believing.' I even showed Jamal where I discovered Toby and he was appalled when he noticed some dried blood and skin on the bricks and mortar where Toby had tried to scrape his way out of his entombment. Before we left that house I bricked the hole back up.

And I was also relieved when Mr. Brooks never made any comment on where Toby slept. By that time I had moved into the room a small twin sized bed to give anyone else the illusion that Toby was sleeping in a separate bed. I was also quite adept at allowing Toby to snuggle up to me while keeping strict control of my rampantly renewed libido. I also stopped feeling guilty about my increasing feelings for the boy. I kept telling myself that they were strictly platonic even though deep down I guess I knew otherwise. At least I'd convinced Toby that he needn't 'service' me as he had done Massa Tom. By the time we were all set to disembark on our 'adventures' as Toby started calling them, I'd gotten to the point where I couldn't even sleep without my 'comfort boy.'

Amelia had produced a doctor all the way from Florida. He was just out of Med school and was over 200,000 dollars in debt. He was very nice with Toby who must have charmed him.

"You know Mr. VonBona, as I told Mrs. Banks, I would have reported you to the authorities if I could not convince myself that Toby was not being abused. I don't need five thousand dollars that badly. But I will take it. Toby is quite a strange boy and I'm sure there is a story here but I am convinced he is being well cared for. At least now. There is some very faint scaring on his back, buttocks, and legs which had to have come from a whipping. But it has been healed for several years at least. I was afraid to ask how he had obtained them." The doctor paused. "And I found no anal tearing or other evidence of anal penetration either. That was almost the first thing I checked."

That was even more than I had known. Toby had stated that he and his 'Massa' had engaged in 'other' sexual things but I never questioned him in depth.

"Thank you Dr. Mills. Anything else?"

"Yes. Toby has had the measles, mumps, whooping cough, and I suspect scarlet fever. He is fortunate to be in such good health. I need to get an MRI of his heart to make sure it has not been damaged by the Scarlet Fever. And he is also late in his physical development which most likely came from a poor diet. Wherever this poor child came from, I am happy to see that at least now he seems quite happy and well cared for. I deliberately did not ask questions I did not need the answers to."

"I greatly appreciate for coming here doctor."

We talked a bit more about possible problems happening because of Toby's happenstances. We arranged for the MRI which would be sent to the doctor later, and several other test to make sure he had no parasites. But I was relieved to know that his prognosis was very good.

"I don't see any cause for alarm Mr. VonBona. Just continue Toby's care and he should grow up very normally. And I presume that you know that Toby can barely read?"

"Yes doctor. In fact just several weeks ago he couldn't read at all. I'm in the process of hiring a private tutor. I can well afford it."

"Good. Toby seems to be quite happy with you. I had many misgivings about my coming here but have subsequently satisfied myself of your good intentions towards this boy."

"Thank you doctor again. And please keep in touch. As you no doubt presume, I did not come by Toby through the system. In fact it was my desire to keep him out of the system which brought you here. If it is OK with you I'd like to keep your number for possible future needs."

"Same arrangement? Private flight both ways?"

"Definitely."

And so it was arranged. Dr. Mills had given Toby all the usual shots and left with a parting piece of advice. "And Toby could use a dentist. He did tell me he'd never been to one. Although I can not be certain without dental X-rays, his teeth look to be in remarkably good shape. Except for a strange abrasion."

Now I was perplexed. "Abrasion?"

"Yes. The only time I'd ever seen the like of it was in a text book. It seems that Toby has had a history of having eaten a substantial amount of ash in his diet. Have any explanation Mr. VonBona?"

"Ash?" It took me several moments to finally understand. Many of his meals had been cooked on a wood fire.

Toby and I celebrated his survival. He complained that he didn't like when the doctor stuck him with needles. I guess Toby had never seen a hypodermic before. We went out to a fish place. It would seem that Toby had never eaten fish before a week ago and wanted to try it again.

"Yeah, I's seen the white boys fishin' at times, but we'd always got chased. Benji and I tried it onced but we never did git anythin' 'Course we never was able to get metal hooks like the other boy's used."

Interlude 1

At the Lambert-St. Louis International Airport

Three hours later and an extremely excited Xen'chu, armed with 17 terabytes of holo imagery, absolutely knew the information he'd garnered proving the complicity of the president's rival political party would garner him the coveted Bush Award, named after the person whom history had deemed to have had the most disastrous presidency in the history of that old regime. Unfortunately, by the time he'd charged his TimeImageryUnit, he'd not been careful enough to notice the extremely small back thrust of the time converter.

Chapter 2

January 1, 2010

I must have gone back to sleep quite fast. I awoke again and realized that I had just been wrapped up in a dream where this very boy was my ardent lover and was ministering to me, his master, as was his normal duty, using his hands and mouth on my own body, with special emphasis on his master's genitals. I was quickly approaching climax as his one black hand fondled his master's testicles while his other hand and mouth worked on his master's stiff 6 inch [15 cm] penis.

I suddenly woke up again on the very verge of climax and moaned with the realization of this being only a dream. Or more specifically dreaming that I had dreamt. (Now I was getting as mixed up as Toby sometimes could get). I was a bit astonished to be having wet dreams again, thinking that it was only a property of over rampant teen hormones. As I looked down at Toby with his arm and head now resting atop my own body, that very same black ex-slave from my dream, I wondered just what made up his own dreams. I was again amazed at the contrast between his so very black skin and my own light tawny-brown, making me almost seem white in comparison. He stirred as I moved his still slim body off mine as I made to escape to the bathroom adjacent to our bedroom. As I covered up his cute black body I still wondered just when Toby himself might start his own journey through puberty. So far, other than for normal curiosity, he seemed not at all taken up by the hormonal urges concomitant with that journey. And the times I'd seen his genitals I noticed that they were still quite prepubescent even if his uncircumcised penis was a limber 4 or so inches [c. 10 cm]. (But I had better get those images out of my head if I didn't want myself sporting a hard boner).

Dr. Mills had only recently re-examined Toby and had declared him in good health and 'normal' in his development. If the word normal could be accurately attached to a boy whose life has been anything but normal. And I especially came to enjoy those frequent moments watching Toby's face and eyes when he has encountered something new.

In was in fact just before Christmas, having decided to spend the holidays in Florida (of course including Disney World), we visited the good doctor at his newly opened pediatric practice in Plantation, FL. Two things I had become concerned about was Toby's apparent late development, not only sexually, but even physically, and the other problem, his feet. All those calluses had started to either peel off or worse, split, causing Toby some pain and discomfort. Though I had to drag it out of him when he was having any pain or serious discomfort. On one occasion several months ago I tried to give him some Aleve for a headache he obviously had, and we had a typical conversation – misunderstanding each other for the first several sentences.

"But, how'd theys get white man's medicine inta those little blue things?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Mr. Ben, niggras not allowed anything like dat."

Now I was a bit confused. I know for a fact that they had nothing like aspirin or such back in the mid-1800s. Only opiates for pain, or get the subject falling down drunk.

"This will help stop your headache Toby. And you're not a darkie or a colored or a niggra anymore."

Toby looked at me quite perplexed.

"You're funny Mr. Ben." And holding out his obviously very black arm announced the obvious: "I's still as dark as ever. 'Sides, I's don't wants to get stupid."

Toby did not understand I was speaking metaphorically.

I almost just ordered him to swallow the pills. "Look Toby, …" Then I started wondering about his remark about getting stupid."

"Stupid?" I asked, almost stupidly myself.

"Sho nuf. When Massa Tom took his laudanum, he got powerful funny and stupid. In fact that's how he first took me into his bed to be his comfort boy. I shos remembers that!"

I knew that laudanum was a mixture of some opiate and alcohol and there were quite a number of addicts back before aspirin made the scene around the turn of the last century. Of course many colonists in some locales had already discovered the wonders of inner willow bark from the Indians. But it took a century or more before it was available as a medicinal.

Now I thought I understood. "Look Toby. This is not laudanum. Or anything like it. It will do nothing but help your headache, or any other pain you might have."

Toby looked at me skeptically, but took the pills. Before I could stop him, he then started chewing them all the while making a horrible face. I had to stop myself from laughing, and offered him a glass of water which he greedily took.

"Thanks Mr. Ben." And several seconds later he added: "But perhaps it's different for us. I's don't feel any different."

And still several months later, Toby of course, seemed totally complacent about his physical condition, even as I could see him wincing as he walked. Apparently shoes had not been a boon for him after all. I suspect that his acceptance of things he could not change had been well conditioned into him during his years as a slave.

On this visit, Dr. Mills insisted on seeing Toby, at least at first, in private.

"Mr. VonBona, if you could please wait in the outer office I would like to examine Toby without your presence inhibiting his natural responses."

I understood that the doctor wanted to reassure himself that Toby was not being abused in any way. Fortunately both Toby and the doctor emerged from their little talk smiling.

As Toby ran to me, Dr. Mills began to expound on what he had learned.

"I'm very glad to see that Toby has come a long way from the reticent and apparently servile boy I'd seen three months ago."

I grabbed Toby, trying to stop him from opening every drawer in the room and replied: "Toby, I assure you, is anything but inhibited. I guarantee you that in the past several months, Toby has definitely discovered what freedom is all about and is thoroughly enjoying his."

As the words left my mouth I recognized my gaff. 'Til now, we had never explained just how, and under what circumstances, Toby had come into my life.

At my open consternation, the doctor laughed.

"Mr. VonBona. I have no doubt that I was chosen for my discretion and my assurance that I too wanted to keep Toby from becoming a victim of our egregiously dysfunctional Social Services. But you also had failed to take into account my professional abilities. You must also understand that I am not without curiosity. Let me tell you what I already know."

I was at least encouraged by the doctor's friendly manner, and his obvious regard for Toby, who was now enjoying himself by playing with the doctor's diagnostic computer. The doctor seemed unconcerned about any possible harm Toby could cause.

"Dr. Mills, I just need to explain…"

Before I could continue the doctor interrupted. "Let me detail first what I already know. As you remember from that first visit, I had to excise a small bone chip from one of Toby's previously injured toes. At that time I had remarked about the unusual condition of his feet. It was quite obvious, that Toby had gone literally years without proper footwear. But all that is merely incidental. What I want to talk about now is the miracle of modern forensic science and just what we can learn from a small bone fragment and from DNA."

I was now wondering just what I was going to have to confront, and became more than a bit concerned.

"Dr. Mills, I just want…"

"Please Mr. VonBona, I believe that we both only want what is best for your son." (Toby's adoption had just recently gone through. Enough money can even grease the wheels of our moribund bureaucracy). "As I began to say, we can do amazing things now. First of all I discovered that Toby had definitely not grown up with the usual pollutants of our technological society. The markers were all wrong. But I was further astonished to learn that the chemical markers recorded in his bones matched nothing in our entire database. And his DNA revealed one unusual factor considering he was an African American. Or at least purported to have been. You should understand that the vast majority of blacks in this country have some genetic material from other racial heritages, mostly Caucasian. Toby has none. Of course I was also rabidly curious at such a strange boy. Eventually I took a recording of his voice to an expert in language and regional accents. And eventually he got back to me. He was amazed. He had grudgingly reached the conclusion that I had been playing a big hoax on him."

I was starting to understand. Toby's speech patterns of course were unusual. And for 21st century America, possibly unique.

"Mr. VonBona. It would seem that Toby has an amazingly similar speech pattern to 19th century blacks from the Mississippi Valley region of the US. Of course we know that's impossible."

The doctor's smile got even bigger as he further pronounced: "And upon a reevaluation of that bone fragment, I have determined that it too could have easily come from a boy who had lived a century and a half ago in that same region."

By this time Toby was also engaged by what the doctor was saying. And the doctor took the opportunity to address my boy: "Your father said that you are enjoying your freedom. Is that true Toby?"

Toby understood from my repeated warnings not to say much about his background, and how he was visibly upset.

I finally intervened at Toby's consternation. "Don't worry Toby. The doctor has much of your background figured out."

I was now the one quite relieved but also smiling at the doctor's own consternation of the so-called incontrovertible facts – facts which led to an impossibility. I was quite certain of the doctor's good will and was relying now on his intentions of doing what he thought best for Toby.

I answered myself: "Let's us say that Toby has memory of having been a slave in the pre-emancipation days leading up to the Civil War. He was apparently born in 1850 and belonged to a land owner in that very town of Spanish Lake where you first saw him."

The doctor was now looking at Toby with a small bit of wonder, his reason warring with his belief that of course Toby could not REALLY have been born in 1850, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary.

"Well, a famous writer put the words into the mouth of his most memorable character. 'Eliminate all other factors, and the ones which remains must be the truth'."

Toby looked at me and asked: "Does he know Mr. Ben? I promise I never said."

"No need to be concerned Toby, I'm sure the doctor here won't tell anyone else about your unusual past."

The doctor walked over to Toby and reassured him. "Not to worry boy. Without anything to prove my assertion, who would ever believe me if I said I knew a boy who had been a slave during the time of the Civil War."

Toby, with his usual insouciance, announced: "I'm sure glad that the Union won!"

For the next hour the doctor and I spoke about Toby's situation and unique past. And in spite of being lifted out of a time and place of abject poverty and a society so distant from ours in mores and technology, I mentioned my reassurance at Toby's adapting so well.

"Almost too well, Dr. Mills; he keeps showing me all the new electronic gadgets Amelia and other keep insisting on sending him, and asking how to use them. I have also found it quite remarkable that his new found skills with all our advanced technology seems to have even outstripped his ability to learn to read and write."

Eventually we got to what had brought us here. The doctor gave me treatments for the boy's feet assuring me that in several months they should no longer be necessary.

It was Toby who brought up the other concern of mine.

"Doc, Mr. Ben is all worried about me being so small yet."

The doctor replied: "Nothing to be concerned about yet. If he remembers his birthday correctly, Toby is just 14 years, 3 months old. He now is 5 feet 1 inch [1.55 m] tall and a healthy 80 pounds [36 kg], just on the slender side. But this is quite normal for a boy with his nutritional background. I would not be surprised if he very soon starts a growth spurt along with the onset of puberty. Please be assured there is nothing to be concerned about."

I smiled: "So you also agree that you believe Toby had been a slave?"

The doctor laughed. "Most definitely not. Toby is your perfectly normal 14 year old with a somewhat disadvantaged youth."

We arranged for another follow up in several months. I left a check for a thousand dollars which the doctor was reluctant to take.

"Dr. Mills, use it for all the other disadvantaged kids out there."

Though it was difficult to keep Toby in his shoes for more than several hours at a time, we got along remarkably well. Though all teen-boy, he was definitely not your average teen. His background and experiences made him almost seem as a small adult on some occasions, especially in his penchant at thinking into problems and other challenges that came his way from time to time. Also he seemed quite mature in his relating to other people. In fact Toby sometimes complained about how childish some of the kids were with whom he sometimes played.

I had become so complacent with our situation by that first day of the new year, that I was momentarily flummoxed by what happened as I returned from the bathroom of our three room suite. (We had temporarily abandoned the Disney World's Boardwalk Inn, for accommodations at the Blue Heron Beach Resort in nearby Orlando. What I witnessed left me at first paralyzed as I watched Toby, who had been apparently walking across the room, but who stood totally rigid as a pulsating light seemed to have engulfed him. He seemed to be staring into some void and with a shattering scream which filled the room, he finally brought up his arms as if trying ward off something terrible. As my brain started finally functioning, and recognizing that the color of the pulses of light were blue like the ones he had described four months earlier, I almost screamed myself in total anguish not wanting anything more to happen to my boy. I impulsively grabbed him as the light seemed to flash, filling the entire room.

Which was then filled with another scream, as a women, who definitely did not belong there, reacted with some fear of her own.

That woman tried to apologize: "Please excuse me sir," I had no idea that this room was still occupied! Please pardon me. I will be back later to clean up."

I watched in near complete perplexity as the woman, dressed in the typical maid's uniform, vacated the room and left by the front door of the small suite. For a moment I was only making sure that Toby was still with me and was completely all right. I only gave passing thought to the room attendant who had apparently come into the room to clean up, thinking that it was vacant.

"Toby, you all right?"

The crying naked boy held on to me for dear life. He was shaking almost uncontrollable. I kept trying to reassure him that everything was Ok and he had nothing to fear. Even if I was fearful about several things at that time. I myself felt so eerily affected as if somehow some major event had taken place even if I could not understand what exactly it was. As I carried my now whimpering boy onto the bed, a bed strangely now made with not the slightest indication that we had just used it, I looked about us to assure myself that yes I was not going bonkers. But I was definitely not reassured as I could not see a single item of clothing that I recognized. It was almost as if we had suddenly discovered ourselves in another person's hotel room.

"Mr. Ben, I'm scared. Mr. Ben, please hold me. I think I saw someone getting shot!"

I was becoming alarmed myself about several things. Not the least of which was this strange thing Toby was talking about. But I was assured that for the time being he was Ok and I started looking about us trying to make sense of what had just happened. Yes we were definitely NOT in the same room. Or at least things were definitely not as had been. There were clothes strewn about and in an open closet but they were definitely not ours.

By this time Toby seemed to have calmed down and started looking about himself. It was he who voiced what I myself was trying my best to deny. "It's happen'd again. That's the same blue light."

I was now running on adrenaline as I zoomed into the main room trying to reassure myself that perhaps we were only in some adjacent suite, even if my mind was discarding that explanation.

Toby followed me into the other room and exclaimed: "Mr. Ben! Look!"

I was directed by his pointing arm and was aghast to see a huge crane outside the window. A new portion of the building across from us was in construction – definitely not even started when we took this suite. I started to get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. At least Toby and I were still together. I turned on the TV to an all day news station and found out the worst. We had peen pulled four months into the future. At least it wasn't hundreds of years. Or far into the past. Whatever had propelled Toby into my time to begin with seemed to still be operational.

"Mr. Ben. Now I's really a'scared. I jumped again ha?"

Toby seemed more nonplussed by the fact than I was.

I became suddenly concerned about how the people in the hotel would react to our presence in a room where we didn't belong. I quickly found clothes to fit both if us – happily there was a small boy and a man near my size staying in the suite – and Toby and I snuck us out of the room and the hotel itself. Fortunately we were not stopped or questioned. But now what to do. And Toby was all questions. I kept trying to reassure him that all would be OK.

"Look Toby, you still have me. I will make sure that nothing bad happens."

I only could hope that I was not lying. However I was without money or even ID. Nothing.

I hurried us into a nearby Barns & Noble, sat Toby down in their small coffee shop and tried to figure out how to contact Amelia. Finally I simply went over to a young man, perhaps in his twenties, and apparently engrossed in a book and simply inquired: "Young man, could I please have the loan of your cell phone. I am in the middle of a desperate emergency."

The man was very accommodating, especially when he looked over at a frightened Toby.

"That's your son? That black kid?"

Toby spoke up: "He's my dad. I'm 'dopted!"

I soon had the use of the phone and had a totally freaked out Amelia on the line.

"Ben!?" she gasped.

I assured I was who I said. Even Toby shouted into the small phone.

"You're alive? Ok? And Toby too?"

Again I tried to explain our circumstances but she seemed not to listen. Instead I heard her yell: "Garret! It's Ben! And Toby! They're alive!"

After some commotion on her end of the connection I finally got Amelia to listen.

"Look Amelia, we're ok, but we need your help."

By this time the young man was totally engrossed in what was apparently transpiring right in front of him.

But what next took me by surprise and made me quake was Amelia's stress filled exclamation: "My god Ben! You had better have a totally million dollar explanation for what you've done! That's the very least we've spent trying to find you and Toby. You guys just disappeared!"

Two hours later, Toby and I were in another hotel room along with a courier who had provided me with several company credit cards (from one of the VonBona companies here in Florida) along with some better fitting clothes. How he'd gotten them I never did discover. Three hours later, Toby and I were on a small rented jet to Austin, Texas, where a very distraught but happy Amelia and husband Garrett were be waiting for that 'million dollar' explanation. Toby had apparently recovered from whatever had so totally frightened him and was excitedly looking out the window next to his seat and marveling at how little everything on the ground looked. By this time he was quite familiar with flying, but still had all the enthusiasm as a first time traveler. It was only after all the stress of finally getting us on our way where we could recover so to speak when I finally started reviewing everything I knew about what had recently transpired to wreak havoc with our lives. That DAMED BLUE LIGHT! I could only conclude, after reassuring myself that indeed it WAS May 2, 2010, that we had both been brought into the future almost exactly four months!

And Amelia at this same time was calling off the entire cavalry which she had mobilized trying to find us.

And then I finally remembered that other thing Toby had mentioned.

"Toby, how're you doing boy?"

"Ok Mr. Ben. Just a little shaky. That was so scary again. But I still have you. Did I really go into the future again?"

"Yes. Fortunately it was both of us. I'm sure glad that I grabbed you. I can't think of how I'd have survived if I had lost you."

"I'm scared."

"Well Toby you will always have me. Don't be afraid."

But I certainly was. I was wondering if this kind of thing would keep happening. And why to Toby? (Or was it also happening to other people which we just never knew about?) But I was again thinking about just how I could make Toby safe again. I realized that I also had to question him about what he claimed to have seen.

"Toby, you think you can talk about what you saw back in the hotel room?"

"Yes, Mr. Ben. I saw a man walkin' down some strange metal stairs and turning around waving. He suddenly jerked back as something seemed to hit him. There was blood all over. Then his head…"

Toby started to cry.

As Toby was able to give more particulars, I determined that the man had just gotten out of a big plane. Why on the ground instead from the usual air terminal I was trying to puzzle out. The man had been shot at least twice, the second shot to his head. And apparently by something quite powerful. Toby added a lot of detail as he started to calm down again.

"Toby, can you remember anything else? Maybe if you closed your eyes and tried to bring the image back to mind."

"I think so. There was the word 'Air' painted on the outside of the plane. An' some people were takin' pictures. And a woman screamed standing next to him. She got blood all over her. A Neggra woman. I mean black. I think he was black too but not dark. Then a couple guys pushed them both into a big car and drove off. Everyone was shouting."

I started almost shaking myself. That sounded too much like the president getting off of Air Force One. But why Toby should have 'seen' that particular episode had me flummoxed. I was suddenly wondering if the president had been assassinated and Toby somehow had seen it happen.

I called for the flight attendant and tried to casually ask about what was in the news and what the president was doing. Apparently he was perfectly ok.

Then what Toby next said sent a chill down my spine: "Mr. Ben, I think I heard a strange voice saying something. The words were strange and I couldn't understand them except for some numbers. A 5, a 12, then a 20 and a 10. In that order."

May 12, 2010 was the 'number' that came to me. What if there was to be an assassination of the president 10 days from now? I tried to keep telling myself that this was totally impossible. But time travel was likewise impossible. These thoughts created a battle in my mind the entire rest of the trip back to Texas.

That night Toby was tightly ensconced in my arms. I was trying to do what he was doing – sleep. It had been a horribly trying and exhausting day and I couldn't relax. Amelia and Garret, and a man Amelia introduced me to, in charge of the group trying to find us, had questioned me for several hours to no one's satisfaction. Finally I had Amelia and Garret insulate us from the private detective.

"Look, Amelia. The story is quite simple. Just as happened to Toby four months before, I mean four months as far as we are concerned, happened again. To us it seems just like this morning! One moment we were in the hotel suite on the morning of January 1st and then it was May 2nd. You know the rest, about the blue light and all."

The next several hours before bed time we were trying to figure out how to let the authorities know. They will definitely NOT be happy especially since we apparently will have voluntarily disappeared. We surely could not tell them about any blue light. Just trying to explain Toby five months ago had Amelia and others engaged in all manner of not quite legal maneuvering and 'document manufacturing,' though most of that had already been done getting him a previous identity as having been born in Puerto Rico and eventually being formally adopted. And I also finally found out that the tutor we had hired had settled into another teaching job back in Chicago.

Fortunately money, in sufficient quantities, can make many headaches go away. But unfortunately not all of them. I still had the possibility of the president being shot. I just wish I knew more. What airport? Was it REALLY 10 days from now? And if so, how could I stop it? Or could I stop it? Or should I stop it? Would I be changing history. Then I felt a small boy huddle closer to me and realized that not changing history was already a moot point.

Of course I started being relieved when even by May 11th, the president was supposed to be nowhere near any airport the next day. Some visitors were to be at the White House. I started to relax. Regrettably that next morning it was announced that he was to throw out the first ball at a St. Louis home game that very evening. I was in a near panic.

I bought an untraceable cell phone, labored over composing a recorded message, and finally sent the exact same message to every Federal Agency I could get to stay on the line that long. (I also used a thing which could disguise my voice).

"I know about a plot to assassinate the president. He is to be killed by two snipers while deplaning Air Force One today. They know his wife will be with even though this was NOT in the news."

It was someone connected with the Secret Service who finally took my call seriously.

"Let me get this straight." He deliberately repeated what I had stated. I knew they were furiously trying to trace the call. "Why are you calling? If you are involved why not just stop the operation?"

"I am not involved. Look, maybe I am just some kook. But why take any chance? Simply make sure the president and whoever else gets off that plane is adequately protected."

I was totally shaking as I turned off the phone and threw it into the incinerator right next to me. I walked away and eventually got rid of my disguise – just in case they were faster in locating the cell tower I was closest to – and got into my car. I had to sit for a while before I could stop shaking and drive away.

Only an hour later I was in Amelia's home and sitting to dinner with Toby, Amelia, and her husband.

Amelia asked: "Anything important today? You were gone several hours. Toby was getting anxious."

Toby did not want me out of his sight ever since the blue light episode.

"Nothing important. By the way, did the president reach the catcher throwing out the first pitch?"

"Yes, it was well covered, but it was strange. He left the game right afterward. And his wife did not go to the stadium with him even though she had flown out with him. There was something strange going on I think."

The next day it was all over the news. One men were arrested, and at least three others implicated in an unsuccessful assassination attempt of the president. We were all glued to the news as it kept unfolding. There was not the slightest mention of any warning call, but the president's plane was routed St Lewis International Air Port while another plane, also marked as Air Force One, landed as expected at Scott Air Force Base. Fortunately the first person out, dressed as the president was wearing a bullet proof vest and at the first shot was pulled to safety. Apparently there had been enough advanced warning that quite a few agents, both Secret Service and FBI were on hand so that at least one known shooter was apprehended. I found it more than a coincidence that all this took place merely miles from where I first found Toby in Spanish Lakes, Missouri.

Wow! For then next several days I kept expecting that horrible knock on Amelia's door, where Toby and I were temporarily holed up.

Five weeks later, Toby and I were again back to our 'normal' schedule and even Jamal Brooks was back with it. (The remunerative advance was too much to turn down. Besides he really missed his favorite student). This time we were visiting the Custer Battlefield, about which I had read quite a bit, and then we would be off the Yellowstone National Park. Something I'd always wanted to see but never took the time. Until now.

But the relationship between Toby and I had subtly changed. Toby would never want me out of his sight. As if I could actually somehow stop any future 'blue light happening.' However, I too was concerned enough that I had no problem with making sure I was never far away.

I had also decided to take other precautions. There was a large waterproof bag that was never far from my reach with survival gear. The most difficult item to obtain, which made its way into that bag, was a fully automatic micro Uzi-pro. Of course with a number of 40 round magazines.